


Of Irises, Chamomiles, and Roses

by Salmon_I



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Established Relationship, Felching, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-05-02 05:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19192492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_I/pseuds/Salmon_I
Summary: Francis followed him back into the room, reclining on the lounge chair he'd previously occupied, and simply watching.  Ivan pulled the flowers from the vase on his desk and pitched them over his shoulder without blinking.  The new flowers were tenderly placed in the vase with much more care.  "Rose… Chamomile… Iris...""Our flowers."  Ivan beamed, before sitting back down at his desk to go back to his previous task, which was sorting a stack of mail.  Most of which was apparently lacking of interest, and ending up on the floor with the flowers.  Francis wondered who would clean up the mess later, because it certainly was not going to be him.  He turned back to his computer and typed out a quick message on the open chat window.{You never send me flowers.  My feelings are mortally wounded, Mon Petite Lapin.}Ivan seemed to have found one of the letters interesting enough to warrant reading, and France waited for the reply.  The screen blinked a moment later.{The rest of you will follow suit if you use that dratted nickname again.}





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another old Kink Meme De-Anon. The Prompt was:
> 
> France/England/Russia/America polygamous stable relationship 
> 
> Those four are in an established polygamous relationship together. Not only in sex (though that is also much appreciated <3), but they live together whenever they have days off work, and when they’re away, they sleep together (during meetings all four of them, but whenever they have a bilateral meeting between two of them, they sleep together and think of the other two, talk through Skype with the others, etc).
> 
> I’d like to see how this could work. Preferred no AU, but if you can’t work the nation canon in, I’d love that too.

Ivan was the first one to see the garden. Roses, Irises, and Chamomiles intermingled in the little plot. "They just look nice together."  Arthur had insisted, as if the words could hide the flush of pink creeping up his face.

"Da, they do."  Ivan had smiled, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind.  He settled his face into his back before he could protest.

"I have to finish the garden."  He informed him.  When Russia just hummed, England returned to his work, though it wasn't easy when you had a human-sized leech attached to your back.  Especially when said nation was so much bigger than you are.  But Ivan didn't make him stop, or try to do anything but cling to him.  After several minutes of silently working, Arthur reached back to ruffle the silver locks of the other.

"England always smells like the garden."

"You've said that before.  As I recall, none of you agreed on what type though.  Francis said spices - which is still ridiculous, and America said vegetables - which was hardly flattering, and you said-"

"Flowers."  He felt him nod against his back.

"Which is more flattering, but sounds rather feminine."

"Now I like this smell best."

"Oh?"

"Because you smell like a piece of each of us."

Ivan's lips brushed against his neck, and Arthur shivered.  "I'm not going to get the gardening done today, am I?"

"Nyet."

"Incorrigible...the lot of you."  His smile belied his words.

 

 

* * *

 

Hamburgers were a detestable invention, France had decided that a long time ago.  But it was made worse by America's seemingly endless appetite for them.  He was currently stuffing his face of said food while discussing the current trade agreements.  He was pretty sure they were still on trade agreements.  It was hard to figure out what he was saying with the dead cow filling his mouth as words tried to come out of it.  Francis was decidedly unimpressed that he hadn't managed to choke. Slightly disgusted, but unimpressed.  There was certainly more pleasant things that they could be preoccupying themselves with, seeing as no actual work was getting done.

His cellphone gave a trill to indicate he had a message.  Important meeting or not, he spared it a glance, and felt a smile curve his lips.  The smile seemed to get Alfred's attention, or perhaps it was the cellphone.

"Um... Francis, you're doing that scary, amused grin again."

"Ivan sends his l'amour."  Francis set the device on the desk.

On the screen it read, 'Alfred, France cannot understand you when your mouth is full, da?'

Alfred spluttered, before giving a wary glance around. "I swear some days, he has my office wired."

"I'm sure at this point, Russie does not need to, Amerique."  He stood up to move around the desk, plopping in the younger nations lap.  "After all, we know each other very, very well."  He caught his lips in a kiss, which Alfred responded to enthusiastically.  His hands trailed down his sides, causing Francis to shiver with anticipation.

A cellphone gave a loud and annoying beep, and Alfred broke the kiss to check it.

"Mon Dieu, if that is-"  France was cut off by Alfred laughing.  He frowned at the other until he was offered the cellphone.

"Arthur sends his love."  America's grin said it all before he even looked at the screen.

'Francis, get off Alfred's lap, and finish the meeting.'

Cellphones, Francis decided, were a worse invention than hamburgers.

 

 

* * *

  
The cleaning maids greeted him by name, and let him into the house with only a passing remark that the master bedroom was locked… again.  Given how often they all changed hired help to avoid suspicion, Arthur decided he should really visit less often.  It was filed under his To Do List.  Right under throwing away all the things that hundreds of years of pack ratting had collected in his attic.  Which was under a long list of things that he personally knew he'd never really get too, but had a mental list for anyway.

Somewhere between the maid's half-relieved, half-exasperated greetings, and his own mental tirade, he'd made it to the master bedroom.  He knocked, and received no response.  "Alfred, it's me!"  He tried again.

He heard shuffling, the click of the lock, more shuffling, and silence.  The door didn't open.  He rolled his eyes, before letting himself in.  It wasn't as if he was uninvited - for why else had the other unlocked the door?  He closed and locked it behind him, though, blinking in the dim light of the room. The curtains were drawn and only a small bedside lamp was on.  Alfred was nowhere to be seen, but the large lump in the bed covers didn't leave much to question about where the other was.

Shaking his head, Arthur walked over to the bed.  "What are you sulking about?"

"M'not."

"You mean "I am not"."

"M'not."

The nation sighed, and picked up the edge of the blanket, trying to peer underneath.  "And you clearly are.  You haven't picked up your phone in a week."

"You didn't pick up yours."  Came the moody reply.

"You haven't called me all week."

"Neither did Francis."

"I spoke to Francis before I left, he hasn't heard from you either."

"Ivan even left his phone in Russia! Belarus picked up!"

"Oh… so that's who has it.  He was looking for it all three days of the meeting."

"Stupid continental meetings."

England sighed again.  "You have your own."

"Which I have to attend all alone."

"We're on the wrong continent, luv."

"Hmph."

"If you expect someone to go on about how we miss you when you aren't there, then you'd best call Francis or Ivan.  I'm not playing these silly games with you."

"Belarus still has Ivan's phone."

"So you tried to call Ivan?"

"No, she called back… left some interesting messages."

"You should hear the ones she leaves on Francis's."

"What about yours?"

"She doesn't leave them on mine anymore."  There was a deadly note to Arthur's tone.  For a moment Alfred didn't respond.  "Did I just scare you again?"

"You couldn't scare me if you tried!"

"Oh, really?"  Arthur pulled the blanket farther up.  "Because I seem to recall last halloween-"

"That was cheating!"

"Alfred, are you coming out any time soon?"

"....No."

"I'm going to come in there after you if you don't-" The rest of his sentence cut off into a gasp as he was yanked under the said blankets, and into the arms of his younger lover.  "Alfred!"  He tried to sound annoyed, but the way Alfred was clinging to him and burying his face in his neck was working against his habitual defense.  He gave a third sigh, and ran a hand through the blonde hair he really couldn't see under the cocoon of covers.  "You realize Moscow is a four hour flight from London?"

"I'm sure I could have googled it."  Alfred replied.

"New York is five." Arthur continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.  "So, technically, the only ones truly right next to each other is France and I.  And, even though I must reluctantly admit to adoring the bastard, if I had to put up with him all the time without you or Ivan, I might just kill him."

"You've had plenty of chances and never did."  He could feel Alfred's smile against his skin.

"Fool's luck." He scoffed.

"I tried to call when you were all at the conference."

"We were working, luv.  Barely even saw each other.  And then we tried to call you back, and you didn't pick up."

"Stay for awhile?"

"I travelled across the blasted pond to check on you. If you believe you're putting me back on a flight to London without at least a night's rest, you are mistaken."

"Do we have to rest?"

Arthur chuckled, and leaned his head against Alfred's.  "As if you'd let me even if I tried."

 

 

* * *

 

  
"Um… you sure you can sign for this?"  The courier seemed reluctant to part with the package.

Francis gave a wave of his hand.  "Why would I be answering the door otherwise?"  He handed the electronic tablet back to him, taking the box greedily into his hands.

"...Right."  The courier was obviously still doubtful, but not enough to argue with the other man.  "Well, that's it then.  Direct from London."  He gave a nod, before heading back the way he'd come.  Francis was pretty sure he heard him muttering about delivering flowers from London to Frenchmen in Moscow and how he had to get a new job, but he chose to ignore it.

He re-entered Ivan's house, opening the box without bothering to ask permission first, despite the fact that it had Ivan's name on it, and paused to consider the flower arrangement inside.  "France?" Ivan peeked out of the door to a nearby room.

"It was not your sister, mon cher. Angleterre sent flowers."

Ivan brightened, and came over to take the box.  "Thank-you."

Francis followed him back into the room, reclining on the lounge chair he'd previously occupied, and simply watching.  Ivan pulled the flowers from the vase on his desk and pitched them over his shoulder without blinking.  The new flowers were tenderly placed in the vase with much more care.  "Rose… Chamomile… Iris..."

"Our flowers."  Ivan beamed, before sitting back down at his desk to go back to his previous task, which was sorting a stack of mail.  Most of which was apparently lacking of interest, and ending up on the floor with the flowers.  Francis wondered who would clean up the mess later, because it certainly was not going to be him.  He turned back to his computer and typed out a quick message on the open chat window.

{You never send me flowers.  My feelings are mortally wounded, Mon Petite Lapin.}

Ivan seemed to have found one of the letters interesting enough to warrant reading, and France waited for the reply.  The screen blinked a moment later.

{The rest of you will follow suit if you use that dratted nickname again.}

He waited another minute, and sure enough the window blinked again.

{Ivan asked for them. You didn't.}

{Our national flowers arranged together.  That is quite symbolic.  Are they from your garden?}

{Bite me.}

{Enticing me when you are in a different country. Tres injuste.}

{Only you would take that as an invitation.}

{Non, I am certain Russie would as well.  Shall I pass on the invitation?}

{Pervert.}

{You know you love it, Angleterre.}

{I'm logging off now.}

He sent a weeping icon, only to receive an automated message that said his party was off line and the message would be delivered the next time they logged on.  He sent five more for good measure.

"America sent a package."  Ivan drew his attention from the computer.

Seeing as England was either not on or purposefully ignoring him, France joined Russia at the desk as he opened the package.  Inside was a letter and another box.

"It says to not open."  Ivan frowned, picking it up.  Sand spilled from one corner, and he quickly turned it upward to prevent more from spilling out.  He was scowling, partly in confusion, as he swiped the sand off his desk. "His box is broken."

France picked up the letter.  "Hey, Ivan. The box isn't broken, and stop dusting me on the floor."  He read aloud.  He glanced at Russia, who glanced back blankly.  Then he resumed the letter.  "Well, it's not me, but it's sand from one of my beaches, so it is me.  And I didn't get the idea from a movie… it was a tv special.  Besides that, I saw a bag of Irish soil for sale in one of my stores, which was weird.  Cuz why was Ireland selling his soil and why are my people buying it?  But that's not the point!  The point is since the land is us, or we're it, or whichever, that this way you can always have a piece of me.  And that's totally romantic, and if France is reading this tell him to not make any of his snitty remarks about me not knowing romance if it bit me."

Ivan chuckled. "Francis will not make any snide remarks about Alfred not knowing romance if it bit him, da?"

"Two against one is injuste." Francis replied before turning back to the letter.  "If England is there, I know it's too late because he's already made it."  At that, Francis smirked.  "But it's still not true. And it is romantic, and I know you'll like it and stuff.  Love Alfred."

Ivan was no longer scowling at the box, but grinning at it happily.  He poured out a little heart shape of sand from the box before setting it back on the end that wouldn't spill.  Francis shook his head, and wrapped his arms around Ivan's shoulders.  "Clumsy, but it is a touch romantic.  Just a touch mind you."

"Francis is jealous of my gifts?"

"Moi?  Impossible." 

"KolKolKol." Ivan turned to nuzzle against Francis's cheek.  "More than gifts, I am happiest when I have visitors, though."

Francis smirked.  "Then I think it is only fair you pay more attention to your visitor than your mail now, oui?"

Ivan nuzzled against his jaw this time.  "Da."

 

_To Be Continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was going to be Sunflowers for Russia, and then I was foolish enough to look up national flowers. And Russia's is Chamomile, and do you know yellow chamomiles look like sunflowers? So now my headcanon refuses to not think 'chamomile' instead of 'sunflower'. (By the way, the Irish soil? Totally true story.)
> 
> I have some additional Hetalia fics over on tumblr. Salmonthestoryteller. Feel free to stop by.


	2. Chapter 2

America was upside down on Russia's back, gazing out at them from the computer screen. Russia was on his stomach, and seemed perfectly content to be the other nation's body pillow. England wasn't sure how they ended up in the position. Nor was he really going to ask. Experience had taught him that explanations from either country tended to lead to headaches, with America rambling off about something completely unconnected, and Russia offering the shortest explanation possible - often without explaining anything at all.

He was pretty sure they were on the floor, unlike he and France who were currently lounging on the other's ridiculously large bed. France's hands were wandering, and he was going to have to put a stop to that sometime. Probably soon… just not yet.

"Absolutely not." He told America instead.

Alfred pouted, and of the four of them he was certainly the best at that. They had even voted on it once. He'd won three to one. Ivan and he had come to the mutual agreement not to comment on the self-votes involved with that one. "But, England! It'll be fun, and steamy, and-"

"We are not having sex on live webcam."

"Bu-waah!" America cut off when Russia rolled, placing himself on top and smiling at the camera upside down.

"We have watched each other before. England liked it then."

Arthur flushed, and behind him Francis chuckled. "Oui… quite a lot as I recall." He nuzzled at his neck, and England reached back to shove his face off casually. Not deterred in the slightest, he laid a hand on England's hip, drawing circles with his fingers. When the hand wasn't immediately shoved off, he took the chance to rest his chin on his arm, gaining a better view of the computer screen.

"I am not ending up on Hungary's Youtube." He gave as way of explanation.

"This channel is secure!" Alfred insisted.

"That's exactly what Estonia told Prussia."

"England watches Hungary's Youtube?" Russia asked, sounding innocently curious.

Arthur spluttered, and Francis laughed. "And you accuse me of being a pervert, mon lapin..."

"You are a pervert, frog!" The island nation shoved his shoulder against France's chest, dislodging him again. "If there was a vote taken, you'd definitely win that one unanimously."

"I would be ashamed were it otherwise!"

"But nobody is going to be able to get on this channel! Seriously, it's totally secure." Alfred protested again. On screen he rolled, bringing himself on top of Russia again. "You know when it comes to science, my people are the best."

"So says the nation whose scientists forgot to convert meters and feet."

"Geez, you crash one martian orbiter and nobody lets you live it down… and it totally doesn't matter. My people are still the best at stuff like this."

"Estonia is better." Russia stated simply, smile still in place.

"Well, okay, but-"

"You came in second to China on most internet users." France added.

"He has more people!"

"You lost to San Marino on the most computers per people. San Marino." England emphasised the other nation's name.

"Hey! I have large rural areas!" America protested.

"Not convincing me."

"C'mon, Arthur. It's been months since… y'know, all four of us were together..."

Arthur hesitated. "We have a world meeting soon."

"Not for another month." He pointed at the screen.

Russia reached out a hand to take America's, bringing it back to brush against his lips. "It has been… long..." He bent his leg, bringing it up through America's two, and letting it fall forward until it rested against the other's groin. Alfred intook a shaky breath.

They looked like they were trying to make a human pretzel with the way they were bending their limbs around each other, which shouldn't have been sexy at all. Still, the slight moan Alfred made was doing little to convince him of the fact. Francis's hand was wandering up his own chest, despite the shirt in the way. He rubbed his thumb over his nipple, and he sucked in his breath at the jolt of pleasure it caused.

"Is it not always best when it is all of us?" Francis murmured into his ear.

"This isn't all of us… I..." England shoved him off, sitting up. "I'm sorry, my answer remains no."

"Stop that." Alfred whispered over his head at Ivan, whose leg was continuing to rub against his crotch.

"Mnnn..." The other reluctantly dropped his leg.

"No awesome internet sex then?" He turned back to the computer.

"Non." Francis sat up. "We all agreed from the start, no pressuring each other. We all agree or it will not happen."

"Make me the villain." Arthur huffed.

"Non, Lapin. We have all said no to… certain things." Francis's voice was thoughtful.

The group seemed to pause, as if contemplating those moments. Things that each one felt vulnerable to, and unable to comply. Ivan could not bring himself to make love in the snow. Alfred's fear of ghosts made darkness and blindfolds too frightening for the superpower. Francis could not stand anything around his neck. Previously, Arthur had refused to make love in the water. Separately, yes, but not altogether if one was unwilling. They'd agreed on that from the start.

Arthur reached up to smack Francis's head lightly. "Stop calling me that, frog."

"Whatever you say, Lapin."

Alfred laughed, until Russia rolled again, bringing himself on top. "We will wait until the conference then. It is good sometimes too, the waiting."

"Why do I keep ending up on the bottom?" America scowled up at him.

"You and your large rural areas can handle it, da?"

England laughed leaning forward to touch the screen. America's face lit into a grin when he noticed, and he reached forward as well. France and Russia reached out to touch the screen as well, and even though there was only the cold feeling of glass between their palms, the meaning was still there.

 

 

* * *

 

The first night of any conference in Europe was always hell on America.  France knew from experience that the younger nation would insist all he needed was a nap, but would then proceed to sleep right on til morning. So, despite the months that had passed since all four of them had been in one place at one time, he knew that nothing was going to occur that night besides cuddling and sleepy conversation.  He wasn't sure who had started this particular turn of topics.  It might have been America, who always did complain he knew too little about the others due to the longer histories between them.  Come to think of it, though, he might have started it himself just to satisfy some questions of his own that had been in his head for a few hundred years.

"Who did you first like… like-like, not just like-like. I mean, love-type-of-like, not your-my-pal-kind-of-like. Like..."  America was rambling.  His head was on England's lap, though Russia's legs had somehow ended up over his.  From where his own head was resting on Ivan's chest, France saw England run a soothing hand through the blonde's hair.

"We understood the question the first time, luv."

"Well, no one's answering."

"Lithuania."  Russia admitted slowly, gaze set determinedly on the ceiling. "We were both little at the time.  He probably does not remember our meeting."

"I wouldn't have guessed Toris."  Alfred blinked.

"Because your own is obvious."  The smile was in Ivan's voice.

Alfred flushed.  "Okay, so maybe it is."

"It is?"  Arthur asked, tilting his head in confusion.

Francis smirked.  "Angleterre."

"I can answer for myself!"  Alfred huffed.

"Why do you think I was answering for you, Amerique?"

"Well, you said… oh… oh!  I so should have guessed that your first crush was England!"  His grin widened when he saw England's face turn bright red as he digested the information.

"So both France and America loved England for a long time, da?"

"I protest the comparison, I was much longer."  France tapped a finger against Russia's chest.  He chuckled when he saw Alfred's grin turn into a pout.

"You always rub my age in."  The younger nation muttered.

"He's bragging because he's eldest, and he's done it for as long as I've known him. So don't worry."  England leaned down to nuzzle their noses together.

Alfred reached a hand up to wrap around the back of his neck so he wouldn't sit back up yet. "What about you? You didn't answer."

"You wouldn't know… well, France and Russia might, but since you asked..."  England began, then sighed. "Germania."

"Germania?"  France actually raised his head from the comfortable position in shock.  He was glad at the blank, surprised look on Russia's face - it made him feel less uniformed.

"Yes, yes, Germania!" England sat back up with a huff of his own, crossing his arms.

"Who's Germania?"  Alfred blinked in confusion.

"He was a grown nation in our youth." France supplied slowly.  "He was gone long before we grew up, Amerique.  So naturally, you wouldn't know him."

"That's so unfair!  It's bad enough I'm the youngest, now I can't even understand part of your history cuz the nation involved isn't around anymore.  And something like a first crush is so important!"

Arthur frowned down at him. "It isn't that important."

Scowling, Alfred sat up. "Yes, it is. It's a piece of your history, a piece of you, so it is."

"If you're not prepared for the answer, don't ask the question then, you-"

"Ah,ah,ah..." France was up and between them, draping an arm around Arthur's shoulders while Ivan wrapped Alfred up in an embrace that seemed less romantic and more a wrestling hold.  He may have questioned it, but since neither of them wanted a fight to break out, he let it slide. "Our first night together in months is no place for disagreements, oui?"

"Da.  It is better not to argue tonight."  Russia agreed.

"No arguments, fine."  Arthur shoved France off, and flopped down to the ground himself - obviously still slightly huffy.  Not in the least thwarted, France laid across his stomach.  "France, I'm going to elbow you in the kidney if you don't get off."

"Did we not just agree not to argue?"

"I didn't say anything about not causing you bodily harm."  Was the counter.  Despite the threat, he didn't make any motion to move the other.

"Dude, you can let go of my arms anytime."  Alfred peered back at Ivan, who still had him pinned.

"Kolkolkol."  Ivan released his arms, but wrapped his arms around his stomach and settled against his back.  "Hmmmm...."

"Something less likely to start a fight, oui?  First kiss."

"Norway." Arthur chose to answer first this time, not even turning to look at the others reactions.

France nodded, having already known the info.  This answer didn't seem to cause an outburst, and he glanced over at the other two.

Ivan's nose wrinkled as though the memory wasn't entirely pleasant. "Mongolia."

Alfred began to glance around the room, as if seeking a way out of answering.  After a moment of silence, he decided to prompt him. "Amerique?"

Alfred grinned, and Francis could almost hear the 'Bingo!' in his head. "I so don't believe I was your first kiss. C'mon, Francis - you asked, you have to answer right!"

Arthur snickered under him, and Francis was tempted to jab an elbow into the other nation's chest. "Spain."  The answer only made Arthur snicker more, and he poked at his side in retaliation. "Pas drole, Angleterre."

"It was, cuz you both missed the first time."

Francis froze. "You were there?" He asked in shock.

Arthur only snickered some more, and France decided to jab his side this time. "It was not that amusing!"

"It was bloody hilarious."

"Alfred did not answer."  Ivan broke in.

Latching on the chance to get away from his own moment of embarrassment, Francis turned to the younger nation. "Oui.  He has not.  Out with it, Amerique."  The mutter they got in response was unintelligible.  "We did not hear you, Amerique.  Are you speaking Swedish?"

"England!"

The others paused, and England huffed.  "Childhood pecks don't count. We were like brothers then."

"Not what I'm referring too..."  America muttered.

"Your first time was with Francis-" England began to protest.

"We never kissed.  He purposefully avoided it at the time."  France put in, still frowning. "But were you not with Ivan before-"

"1898."

France glanced at England, but the other looked blank.  "You visited during the war with Spain, but we certainly never-"

"You were asleep… and you'd just promised to support me, and the moon was shining… I kinda expected you to wake up, y'know?"

"Amerique you molested Angleterre while he was asleep?"  France gaped, then grinned.  "You make me proud!  I taught you well!"

Ivan had actually sat up, and seemed to be hiding his laugh while Arthur continued to gape at him. "You-"

"It was just a kiss! I didn't molest him!"  Alfred protested.

"Perhaps Alfred was bewitched, da?  England's country is said to be full of enchantments."  Ivan grinned.  He settled himself on the floor so his face wasn't far from England's - still smiling.

"There is no random kissing enchantments." England insisted with a scowl, only to have Russia lean in and press a kiss to his mouth.

"But we all love to kiss England..."

"Hmph." America pounced on Russia's back all of a sudden. "First time!  C'mon, it's not fair everyone knows mine was with France.  Besides, the other option at the time was Prussia, so of course I chose France."

Francis stiffened at the question, but paused when he felt England suddenly take his hand.  The gesture was comforting, but didn't ease his tension.

"Francis as well."  Ivan rolled, trying to pin Alfred beneath him. Alfred gave a squawk of protest, rolling away.

"If I wasn't so tired, I could kick your ass, y'know!"

"Perhaps we could use some refreshments." Francis stood up and was out the door.  He heard America start to protest, but let the door shut behind him anyhow.

Left behind, England held a hand up to press against America's lips as he protested France's retreat. "Mine was Portugal." He said, and heard the door click shut.

"Francis ran away?" Ivan frowned.

England ran his free hand through his hair with a sigh, glancing at the door.  "I thought he might lie. Just say Spain or Prussia, or Austria maybe..."

"I don't get it."  Alfred whispered.

With another sigh, England glanced at the two, moving his fingers from the other's lips. "Francis's first time was not of his choosing."

"Someone hurt Francis?"  Ivan's tone was dark.

Alfred's face quickly darkened to match. "Who?" He asked. "Who was it?"

England shook his head. "Stop it the both of you.  You're centuries, millennia even, too late to think of revenge.  He's here with us now.  That's what is important.  That he's happy with us."

The two didn't seem completely calmed by his words, and Arthur wondered if he should follow Francis to make sure he was alright.  But the other reappeared with a tray of drinks a moment later, handing them out.  When their eyes met, Arthur noticed the question in them, and he gave a slow nod.  When he kept gazing, he understood the subtext, and shook his head.  More at ease, Francis settled himself across Ivan and America's lap.

"First..." Ivan murmured, glancing down at Francis.  "First "I love you"." He decided on.

France smiled at the change of subject.  "Vous, Russie." He responded.

"Me too." Alfred blinked in surprise.

"Alfred."  Arthur moved over to lean against the younger nation's shoulder, and brush a hand through Francis's hair.

"Da, the same."  Ivan smiled as Alfred yawned and leaned on his shoulder.

"Those answers I can live with."  Alfred admitted with a sleepy grin.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Arthur awoke to the smell of breakfast, and tangled in two pairs of arms.  It took him a few sleepy moments to decide they belonged to Alfred and Francis.  If the hotel room had come with a fully equipped kitchen, Francis might have dragged himself out of bed early to ensure that they had a proper breakfast.  (The only proper any-kind-of-meal to Francis was French, and there had been plenty of arguments over the fact, too.) The kitchenette provided was really not well equipped, though, and his guess was that Ivan had ordered room service.  The door creaked open a crack a moment later, and he could picture the large nation peeking through it at his lovers in a manner he had at one time found terrifying and now only found endearing. Either he understood the other better now, or he'd cracked somewhere along the line.  He found himself not particularly concerned over which of the options it was.

"Stop being a creeper and come back to bed." Alfred's voice was rough from sleep still.

"It is breakfast time, Alfred." Ivan entered the room anyway, coming over to kneel on the bed and nuzzle the other's neck.

"Five more minutes."

"That's American for fifty."  Arthur warned, opening his eyes to offer Russia a smile.

"Not true!"

"Kolkolkol."  Ivan leaned on Alfred to brush Arthur's lips with his own - though the former batted at him in a sleepy half-hearted manner.

"It does seem a good morning to sleep in, though the smell of that coffee is rather bewitching."  Francis sat up, moving his arms from around Arthur's waist, only to half climb on him steal a kiss from Russia before he could stand again.

"Oof. Off already."  England gave his butt a pointed smack.

"Molesting me so early, Anglettere?"  France smirked at him over his shoulder, ignoring England's flustered protests.

"C'mon, five more minutes."  Alfred pulled his pillow over his head, no longer caring that Russia was still leaning on him.

"Breakfast, frog." England managed to finally get out.

"I can think of one fast I would certainly like to break."  Francis lowered his eyelids and gave the other a heated look.

Arthur ignored the way Ivan perked up and Alfred peeked out from under the pillow. "We have a meeting at ten." He reminded him.

"Un tel dommage." Francis murmured, sliding off of him and stealing a brief kiss.

"Where's my morning kisses?" Alfred complained.

Arthur snorted. "You can get them when your five more minutes are up."

 

 

* * *

 

Breakfast had been a fairly quiet affair for the four of them, and they were going over last minute preparations for the meeting.  Arthur was clucking over them about slanted ties and putting all their papers and hard drives for the meeting in their briefcases.  Francis did think he was adorable in his mother hen mode, not that he'd say it aloud.  Unless he didn't mind seeing double for the rest of the day from the blow he'd take to his head. (And sometimes it was worth it, because Arthur turned beet red in embarrassment, and Alfred howled with glee and Russia joined him - sometimes actually hitting his knee with mirth.) But today wasn't one of those days, if only because he didn't want to get them all locked out of the bedroom. (The fact that it was three against one never mattered, somehow he always managed the feat of keeping the bedroom all to himself while they were stuck flipping coins for the couches.)

When England's phone went off, however, he couldn't suppress a groan. "Mon Dieu, it is the first day."

England shot him a look, but America - oblivious to the atmosphere - picked up the complaint. "Seriously, if that is one of your Commonwealth Brats-"

"They're hardly brats. Some are just as old as you are." England protested, searching for his phone in his briefcase.

"That does not make much of an argument, da?"  Russia spoke up.

"Hey, now wait a minute!" America squawked in protest.

"You act like they're my kids."  England finally got ahold of his phone.

"Oui, exactly. Grown children with tres mauvais timing when it comes to phoning you." Francis crossed his arms.

"Their timing for dropping by is pretty horrible too." America added.

"It's Germany."  England was a bit surprised to see the name on the screen, but picked up anyway. "Hello? Good morning, Germany."

"He's calling before the meeting?" America groaned.

"Someone else didn't get any either last night." France put in.

England shot them a glare. "Yes, I realize the meeting's only in… what about the conference center? I see… yes, that causes a problem."

Both Ivan and Alfred seemed to perk up at those words, Francis noted, but decided not to comment.

"It would make a good replacement… that's unfortunate.  Tomorrow? I don't suppose there's much of a choice though. Very well. We'll see you tomorrow.  Yes, of course I'll tell them. Thank-you."

"Something wrong, mon lapin?" Francis moved gracefully across the room to drape an arm around his shoulders.

Arthur twitched. "Don't slink up to people, frog."  He tossed the arm off his shoulders.

"I never slink."  Francis protested.

"You do slink, like the slimy toad you are."  Arthur countered, moving back toward the other two.

"Toad's hop, don't they?"  Alfred brought up.

"Something is wrong with the conference center, da?"  Ivan broke in calmly before the conversation got too off subject.

"Some pipes broke, and the building got flooded. It's not useable." Arthur explained. "There's a suitable replacement, but it's booked today. So the meeting has been postponed until tomorrow."

Alfred let out an excited whoop, and was on his feet, grabbing Arthur around the middle and swinging him in a circle. "So we have off, right?  We can spend today together! Alright!"

"Alfred, you oaf! Put me down!"

"No way!"  Alfred gave a laugh, lifting the other higher.

"Alfred..." Arthur's tone was a warning, but he cut off when Alfred stretched his head up to nuzzle their noses together.  "Bullocks."  Giving up, Arthur captured Alfred's lips in a kiss.

"An unexpected, but pleasant turn of events." Francis opinioned, wrapping his arms around Ivan's shoulders as he watched the other two's kiss deepen.  Ivan only smiled, and Francis gave him a suspicious look.  "Russie." He whispered. "Did you damage those pipes?"

"Kolkolkol."

Chuckling, Francis nuzzled the other's neck. "Well, then, let us not waste this golden opportunity."

 

_To Be Continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned to split this in three parts, but I think I'll end up splitting it into 4 instead. (It was actually split into 6 parts during the original posting back in the day.)
> 
> I have some additional Hetalia fics over on tumblr. Salmonthestoryteller. Feel free to stop by.


	3. Chapter 3

With the conference cancelled, and the rest of the day to themselves, Arthur didn't believe for a moment they'd see the outside of the hotel room before afternoon.  The thought was brief, flowing by and away like a leaf caught on the wind.  His arms had settled around Alfred's neck, and while the younger nation had brought him closer to him, his feet were still above the ground.  Their lips moved against each other, breaking briefly before coming together again. Alfred's tongue slipped into his mouth and he slid his own against it teasingly, drawing back to scrape his teeth against it lightly.  Groaning into the kiss, his hold on him tightened, and he surged up again to press his tongue back inside his mouth - mapping out familiar ground.

There was another brief thought - that there was a set of double beds pressed together to make one giant bed - in the other room.  Which would be far more comfortable...though the table was conveniently right there.  Undoing the tie he'd straightened three times that morning with practiced ease, Arthur pulled it off and tossed it aside.

"There is a bedroom, mon chers."  Francis murmured, wrapping his arms around Alfred's waist from behind.

Arthur broke the kiss reluctantly, drawing back to brush a thumb against Alfred's wet lips.  "So unimaginative."

"It would be more comfortable, da?"  Somehow Ivan had positioned himself to place him on his shoulder, stealing him from Alfred's embrace.

"Geez, spoil the moment." Alfred teased, though he turned his head to give Francis a heated kiss of his own.

From his precarious perch on Ivan's shoulder, Arthur caught his free hand, watching the kiss languidly.  Ivan's other hand was holding onto his thigh to keep him up, though his fingers were moving in slow circles.  The touch made his skin tingle, and he was tempted to lean back - even though there was only air behind them.

Francis and Alfred were still kissing, Francis's hands having unbuttoned the other's suit jacket as their tongues continued to dance against one another. Alfred finally broke away with a groan, pulling out of the jacket and Francis's embrace - leaving the other still holding the discarded item of clothing.  "What was that about a bedroom?" He smirked, backing toward the door.

"I thought we were… ruining the moment. N'est-ce pas vrai?"  His hands danced down his own jacket - flicking open the buttons.  Alfred continued to back toward the door, though he was watching him carefully. Finished with the buttons, Francis slid the jacket off, placing it neatly on the chair, before pulling Alfred's on slowly, eyes half hooded.

Alfred let out a groan.  "C'mon, that's just cheating."

Moving Ivan's hand from his thigh, Arthur slid to the ground, feeling the heat already beginning to come off the larger nation's body. Leaning up to brush a kiss along his jaw, he moved forward to grab ahold of the lapel's of Alfred's stolen jacket.  "C'mon, wanker."  He smirked up at Francis.  "Prove you're more than talk already."  He pulled him back with him toward the bedroom, ignoring the chuckling from his willing captive.

Alfred had the door open and was the first to flop on the bed, watching as Arthur pulled Francis to it.  Ivan was last in, and shut the door, shedding his own jacket and tossing it over the desk.

Having taken up Arthur's challenge, Francis was kissing him, hands skimming over his frame.  The island had a hand tangled in Francis's hair and was returning the kiss with equal fervor.  Alfred was simply watching them, though his movements were growing restless.  Ivan kneeled down beside the bed to press a rather chaste kiss to his mouth.  Alfred sat up to nuzzle their mouths together before sitting back to unwind the other's scarf with delicate care.  Ivan made no move to help him, and remained still - smiling at the gentle was his prized possession was handled.  Finished freeing him of it's embrace, Alfred folded it up and set it on the nightstand, before reaching down to take his hands and give a gentle tug - carefully controlling his strength.  Only then did Ivan rise to join him on the bed, kissing him more urgently now - running his tongue along his lips to ask for entrance.  Alfred opened his mouth and their tongues dueled briefly before Alfred sucked his tongue inside his mouth, lightly suctioning on it.

Ivan let out a slight growl, pulling him closer, and breaking the kiss to nip along his jaw.  Alfred's hands set to work on Ivan's shirt, smirking when he heard a ripping sound followed by a slight curse beside them.

"This was a good shirt, Francis."  Arthur hissed, breaking their kiss to inspect the damage.

"I'll buy you another." Unperturbed, the French nation moved forward to kiss him again, only for the other to move back up.

"I liked this shirt."

"I hated that shirt." Alfred piped up, glancing sideways at the two from where Ivan and he were still entangled. Arthur scowled, then reached back a hand to dig his fingers into Alfred's side. Alfred gave a shout of laughter, breaking Ivan's embrace.  "Oh, it's so on!"  He moved to tackle Arthur, who rolled to one side with a mocking laugh of his own.  It turned into a shout when Ivan wrapped him in a sturdy embrace.

"Arthur should know better than to tickle Alfred when he's in this mood."

The smaller nation only smirked, managing to turn in the embrace.  "I do believe I have a reputation for being willing to run where angels fear to tread."

Ivan chuckled.  "Da, you do."  He stole a kiss of his own as Alfred puffed his cheeks at the two.

"Geez, you two, stop stealing my partners."

Francis chuckled and leaned down to nuzzle his neck.  "I do believe we're all equals here, mon cher."

"And I do believe your still wearing my jacket."  Alfred slid his hands under Francis's open shirt to trace over his chest, earning a slight moan of appreciation.  His free hand slid the jacket off, tossing it on the floor as he leaned down to nuzzle through the opening as well.  Lips trailed a path over muscle and bone, seeking the right touch.  Francis let out another moan as he found what he was looking for, and wrapped his arms around his neck.

Alfred's teeth nibbled at the spot, as his hands worked on removing the shirt completely.  Then he was pressing him back on the bed, aware of the other two bodies still kneeling above them.  Francis's legs parted, clenching around his hips and dragging him down to press their bodies together.  He broke from the skin under his mouth with a groan, already heavy with need.

"Play later, mon cher."  Almost in contrast two his words, Francis sent Alfred a wink before arching his back to slide a hand up Arthur's thigh and between his legs.  Arthur broke the kiss he was sharing with Ivan with a shout, head arching backward as his groin was fondled.  At the sight, Alfred growled - grinding his hips against Francis's below him who met the friction with thrusts of his own.

Ivan seemed to take the opportunity to remove the remnants of Arthur's shirt as well a his belt, leaning down to brush a kiss to both Francis's and Alfred's lips before returning his attention to Arthur.  As his lips started down the other's chest, Francis gave one last squeeze to the hardened member between the island's legs before turning his attention back to Alfred.  The other seemed engrossed in the sight of what they'd been doing to Arthur, and he took advantage of the distraction to switch their positions, silencing Alfred's shout of protest by thrusting their groins together again.

"Fuck."  Alfred arched into the feeling, breath coming in gasps.

"Tch...such language, Amerique. And in the bedroom."  He leaned down to trail his lips along Alfred's neck and down his chest as he worked on ridding them of the rest of their clothing.

"You want to hear language, keep going."  Alfred pressed one hand to Francis's head, encouraging him to do just that. The other gripped the bed sheets tightly as he felt his body begin to burn from the inside out. Or perhaps, in retrospect, the outside in - but he wasn't up to arguing over details.  Especially as Francis's tongue danced among strands of hair below his navel to his hardened cock.  For a moment he could only feel the warmth of his breath wafting over his skin, before his tongue began to move again - sliding along his length - tracing veins and dancing with teasingly light touches over it.  A string of curses escaped his mouth, his hand entangling in Francis's hair and his body bucking under his ministrations.

He heard a moan and felt the sheets indent beside him, opening his eyes to see Ivan and Arthur had rid themselves of their clothing as well.  Ivan's mouth was latched onto one of Arthur's nipples and the other nations hands were digging into is shoulders, leaving indentations in their wake.  With another growl, Ivan reached up a hand to pinch Arthur's other nipple - earning a shout in response  Alfred leaned over to nuzzle against Arthur's shoulder and the other fluttered his eyes half open to see him.  Smirking at the sight he was greeted with he stretched his body to kiss him briefly.  The slightest skim of his tongue through his lips before he was gone again.

Francis's lips closed around the tip of his erection and Alfred shouted with surprise, hips bucking needily.  With practiced ease, Francis loosened his lips, letting the other jerk into the heat of his mouth.  Before he could begin to suction again, a slight pull on his hair told him it was a treat for another night.  He pulled back, noting the lust darkening Alfred's eyes and slid off the other's legs.  He crooked a finger, and it was all the invitation Alfred needed.  Pulling him so his back was against him, his breath ghosted over his ear.  "Lube?"

"I do believe Ivan has it, mon cochon."

"That's easily solved." He nibbled on the ear he was murmuring into, tongue tracing over curves before tugging at the earlobe. "By the way, you still have the oddest pet names."

Ignoring the barb, Francis turned his head and drew him back for another kiss.

Arthur was nibbling on Ivan's jaw when the larger nation prodded at his entrance with a slicked finger.  He intook a deep breath, pressing more kisses along defined bone as it slid inside.  A second finger joined it, and he gave a slight hiss of pain, even as his hips squirmed backward - searching for the right angle.

"It is good...to be together."  Ivan whispered to him, and Arthur didn't have time to form a response before a third figure joined the first two.  His breath came in gasps, his hips bucking with need - his own cock dripping with precum as it was ignored in favor of other touches.

"If you don't hurry up, the together part of this act isn't going to last long."  Arthur began, but could only groan as the fingers found the right angle.  "Ivan!"

Ivan pulled him up then, turning him to face the other direction.  Francis glanced up from where Alfred's own fingers were buried inside of him, and moved ever so slowly toward him.  Alfred let his fingers slide out as Francis crawled forward, nuzzling Arthur's ignored erection briefly.

With a growl of his own, Arthur's hands enclosed on his shoulders and he drug him up to kiss him - bodies sliding against one another in heated friction.  They gave a unified shout as the were both penetrated from behind, being pressed even closer - their cocks rubbing against one another.  It took a moment for them to find the right rhythm.  At first they moved too fast or too slow, causing them to bump together in a way that was neither sensual or even very pleasurable.  But they quickly fell into sink, Ivan withdrawing from Arthur as Alfred pushed into Francis. Then Ivan was pressing in as Alfred withdrew - each motion causing Francis and Arthur's bodies to slide against one another.  Their hips grinding together in desperate friction as the motions grew harder, more vigorous.  Their mouths slid between parties, sharing tastes and heated breaths in the kisses. Words forgotten, and only the feeling of being together left behind.  Heat coiled in their bodies, tighter and tighter, pleasure sparking with each motion. Each shove inside, each slide out, each grinding of the hips. Alfred and Ivan came first, shouts following each other in close succession as they ground further into the bodies they were buried in.  Arthur and Francis' shouts followed, releasing a hot spray of cum over their stomachs and the arms of their lovers where they were wrapped around both their waists.  The group slid down to lay together on the bed, breathing heavily as the world began to refocus.

Francis stretched, moving slowly to slide off of Alfred, despite a slight muffled protest. He slid a hand downward to coat with the cooling cum on his skin and brought it back up to trace along his lips.  "Mmm...surely we're up to one more round."  He glanced at the other three intently.

Arthur chuckled, but sat up to capture his lips in a kiss before pulling back and turning his attention to his cum covered fingers and drawing one into his mouth to clean off.  Releasing it, he glanced at Alfred and Ivan, who were slowly sitting up as well.  "Trying to prove your the most perverted here, Francis?"

"Your own actions make that questionable, mon petite lapin." Francis smirked.

Arthur gave one last lick to the cum on his hand before moving forward to capture his chin between his own fingers. "If you don't start speaking instead of croaking, I'll make you moan instead."

"You make that sound as if it's a threat, mon cher."

Arthur silenced him with a kiss.  Alfred watched the two kiss for a few minutes, their tongues dancing between each other’s mouths and hovering between.  When he went to move forward, Ivan latched an arm around his waist and began to press kisses down his spine.  He squirmed at the attention, but relaxed for a moment as the kisses trailed lower, ghosting over his tailbone before drawing away.  Alfred turned to press a kiss to Ivan's lips again - languid, despite the heat building between them again.

Ivan leaned his head forward against his when the kiss ended. "We should join them, da?"

Alfred smirked, pressing his lips against Ivan's ear and whispering to him briefly before pulling away with a wink. "Just be my backup."

Arthur was nibbling his way along Francis's shoulder when he felt a hand ghost down his spine.  "About time you two joined us-" His words cut off in a gasp when a only the briefest of breaths flowed over his butt as warning before a tongue invaded his entrance.

Francis gave a shout as he, too, was invaded - the cum that had previously filled him being sipped from inside him. "A little warning, mon chers."  He quivered, reaching back to entangle one hand in Ivan's platinum hair.

"Kolkolkol."  Ivan released him slowly, sliding his tongue up his backbone and neck until he reached his ear.  He whispered to him briefly, and Francis gave him a smirk in return.

"Bloody hell."  Arthur clung onto Francis's hips as Alfred worked his tongue deeper inside of him.  His breathing was heavy as he tried to remember what he'd been doing before the sudden invasion.

"I should have known he got the language from you, Anglettere."

"Belt it, frog."

"Tempting, but difficult with Amerique's current hold on you." Francis smirked when Arthur's cheeks flushed redder at his interpretation of the words.

"Pervert! Not what I meant." He dragged him back to kiss him again, but Francis broke it swiftly, and leaned down to drag his teeth along his hardening erection.  With two mouths working on him, Arthur could not keep up the facade of anger and let out a moan of need.

Suddenly Alfred drew back, giving a gasp of his own. "Ivan, speaking of warning!"  He gasped out. 

Arthur glanced back to see one of Ivan's fingers sliding slowly into Alfred's own entrance. Groaning at the sight, he dragged Francis from his erection. "I'm supposed to be making you moan." He reminded him.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Francis invited, sliding backward onto the bed.  Arthur followed him, lips and teeth grazing over skin as he moved downward to his weeping erection.  He swirled his tongue around the top first, tongue sliding teasingly around the slit.  Francis intook a sharp breath, barely keeping his hips from moving at the sensation.  Arthur nibbled his way down it, watching the way the other's stomach clenched at each nip of teeth to the sensitive skin.  Moving further south, his tongue slid along his balls. "Anglettere!"

Arthur chuckled, nuzzling into the sensitive skin, watching Francis's body jerk in response.  Francis moaned something too soft for him to hear, and he drew slowly away.  "What was that, Francis?"

"Sacre bleu, vous taquiner! Faites-le!" Francis shot back, lungs heaving.

Arthur moved back up, mouth trailing up his length, lapping at the precum oozing from his cock already.  "I don't think I understood that. You were croaking again."

"Anglettere, do not make me hurt you."

Arthur's laugh was wicked, but he took Francis's length in his mouth, throat loosening with practiced ease and enjoying the chorus of moans coming from the other.  He moved his head up and down, sliding over the erection and feeling it fill even more in his mouth.  A slicked finger slid inside of him and he was forced to release him with a shout.

"Timing, Amerique." Francis complained.

"Seemed like good timing to me."  Alfred gasped out, free hand settling on Arthur's hip as Arthur buried his face in Francis's stomach. From his position, the french nation could see three of Ivan's fingers sliding in and out of Alfred's entrance.

Raising up Arthur's face, Francis slid downward - kissing him briefly before turning over. "Another day."  Promise and threat.  Arthur gave a half laugh, pressing kisses to his shoulder as he pressed a finger inside.  "No need."  The older nation arched slightly despite his words.  "Come now, I want you inside of me."

Pressing his face to Francis's shoulder, Arthur pressed inside to a groan he wasn't sure who had let out.  A moment later he felt Alfred slide his fingers out, his pants telling him Ivan was already inside of him. He pulled back, brushing Alfred's erection, before burying himself in Francis again.

Alfred's breath seemed to freeze in his lungs.  Ivan's cock was pressed inside him, brushing against his prostrate in a way that was tantalizing but not enough. When Arthur slid against his erection he gave a growl, and surged forward - pressing inside.  Ivan followed him a moment later and for a brief moment they could only regain lost breath.  He vaguely wondered if Francis was feeling crushed by the weight, then Ivan moved and he forgot to think.

Once again they had to find the right rhythm.  Even more complicated this time then the simple back and forth of the previous time.  Rocking in and out of each other as breaths came shorter and moans became more silent. Until only the slap of skin against skin, the panting of the air they tried to suck in remained.  And as heat coiled a second time, fingers entangled in a jumble as climax eclipsed all four of them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was potentially the hardest sex scene I've ever written. I tend to rely a lot on sensation when writing sex scenes, and due to it being hard to focus on that when you have four viewpoints, I ended up relying a lot on visual description instead.


	4. Chapter 4

France awoke entangled in two arms and with the smell of smoke. He smirked, nuzzling into Russia's shoulder and nudging America awake.

"Five more minutes." The younger nation complained, burying his head under the pillow. France waited. "Francis, do you smell smoke?"

"Oui."

"Who's on your other side?"

"Russie."

Letting out a string of expletives that would have made his ex-caretaker proud, America rushed out of the room.  France yawned and let himself begin to doze again.

"America went to rescue breakfast from England, da?"

"Oui, oui. Which gives us five more minutes."

"Kolkolkol."

They slept until England woke them up by whacking them in the face with pillows.

 

 

* * *

 

England's phone rang seven times that morning, not counting the series of text messages in between. France and America vocalized their complaints several times, to be met with - "And whose idea was it that I get a mobile?"

On the third call Russia - who had said nothing up until now - casually reached over and snagged the phone from his hand. "England's phone. I can help you, da?"

The stuttered conversation would last under two minutes. England's shock went to annoyance, then to amusement in half the time.

"Da. The meeting starts at 10. Did you perhaps misplace your notes?  Misplaced notes are bad. America misplaces his all the time."

"I do not!" The other nation protested, but was ignored.

"England will be at the conference. So you can ask your questions then. I think that is best. Don't you think that is best?" There was a pause.  "It is good that we agree. I will hang up now so we do not waste England's phone's minutes."

Russia hung up to peels of laughter from America and France, and England trying to hide an amused smirk.

"That was unnecessary." England informed him, trying and failing to give the larger nation a glower.

"That was all shades of awesome." America opinioned, earning a half-hearted glower of his own.

"I enjoyed our conversation. Can I answer the next one?"

When the phone rang right then, England gave up on keeping a straight face, and fell into snickers.  America and France began laughing again as Russia hit the button to pick up on the new call.

"England's phone. I can help you, da?"

He let Russia answer the remaining calls and he packed both their briefcases in return.

 

* * *

  
It was an established fact that America had a habit of flaking.  The younger nation, however, would deny it “until the cows come home” - a phrase that his three partners still found bizarre but he insisted on using anyway.  It wasn't that he was incapable of being serious, competent, and prepared.  He was any of the three and a combo of all at any given time.

"Dangerous too." Russia liked to add, smiling as if it were the best compliment he could think of.

But notes did have a tendency of being misplaced.  Important dates were sometimes forgotten.  And it was best to never ask him the way to another nation's house… ever.  France had once said America would misplace Texas if he didn't wear it.  The fact that America had checked to make sure he was still wearing them had not aided his side of the argument.

Any annoyance, frustration, and exasperation over his tendencies were mostly overcome by experience at this point.  Though it meant meeting mornings were filled with things like:

"Has anyone seen my USB hard drive?"

"Night stand."

"No, the one shaped like a hamburger Japan sent me."

"You put it on the mini fridge last night, git."

"Oh, right!  Say, I seem to have packed three pairs of mismatched socks."

"Pas de probleme."

"Thanks, Francis. Argh!"

"Something is wrong?"

"I can't find my notes on troop recalls."

"That is because I have them."

"You really worry me sometimes, Russia."

"Kolkolkol."

And if anyone questioned why such habits weren't a nuisance, they were met with shrugs, laughter, and sharp responses to mind their own business.  Because one could not put into words the feelings that accompanied a brilliant sunshine smile of gratitude.  And no one but the four of them were privy to the words that made it more than worthwhile.

"Thanks, guys.  I don't know what I'd do without you."

 

* * *

  
There were times Russia felt a sliver of jealousy towards even those he held dearest.  His history was long and painful, his lands harsh and demanding.  A darkness resided inside of him that he'd never be fully rid of, and that he'd once thought was a legacy he bore alone.  He was slowly coming to terms with the fact it was a burden they all bore.  It was not something discussed often, but several long nights had led him to new knowledge of things he'd once been blind too.  Of dark deeds both hidden and forgotten.  Of dark desires both denied and shamelessly pursued.  But though the knowledge strengthened his own resolves to a different future, it did not prevent moments of dark feelings.  But, somehow, it seemed the others knew when those moments were.  What to do to break them.

A call from one of England's royal family always made his hands clench.  A wound still new to a nation coiling dark thoughts inside of him.  But then one of France's hands were over his own, soothing tension. And making him remember it was not a wound he alone bore.

When France moved among the other countries during meeting breaks.  Smiling, and charming, and so easy to get along with that he seemed to draw others to him with ease.  And his teeth would clench, and grind.  The feeling that he was alone combining with darker emotions.  And then someone would make a gagging sound. And it would be America, watching the show and rolling his eyes.  And he found his teeth unclenching, because he'd note the way America's was right there beside him.  And venomous looks shot the younger nation's way reminded him not all attention was good attention.

There were times America's youth and exuberance agitated him instead of delighted him.  When he bounded ahead of them, laughing.  Seeming without a care in the world.  Minus scars and ancient wounds to slow him down.  And he'd feel his aura darken, and thoughts of causing pain rather than pleasure assaulted him.  Blades, and bullets, and burning… and a small hand on the shoulder would freeze him.  And England's green eyes would meet his. Tired and ancient, and full of the same kind of wounds. Battles, and rebellions, and invasions, and natural disasters.  Different, but still there.  And suddenly it wasn't so bad.  Wasn't a burden, as much as a history.  Something to be proud of.

Something they'd write together now.

 

_Fini_


End file.
